


Realignment

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Cock Warming, Daddy Kink, Daddy Will, Dirty Talk, Dom Will Graham, Frottage, Gentle Dom Will Graham, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marking, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Power Bottom Will Graham, Praise Kink, Sub Hannibal Lecter, Switching, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham, Topping from the Bottom, Unsafe Sex, mentions of past hannibal/ocs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-03 20:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16332632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: Fill for this Tumblr prompt: Hannibal has a daddy kink. This was easy enough when he was younger - plenty of men were eager to take a pretty-faced, arrogant youth in hand. But as he got older, people started to see him differently, even though his own tastes and kinks never changed. He started to attract men who expected him to take the lead, and it just felt awkward to try and broach the subject. Then he met Will Graham.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I post ONE daddy!Will thing and suddenly I am directed to a tumblr prompt with the same, and I have no self control sooooooo

It used to be easier, when he was younger. He had been elfin, as a teenager, as a young man, wide-eyed and charming, could lure even the most callous of men and the most haughty of women to him, eager to suckle at the sweet, fresh nectar of youth. He could make them feel young again, when he deigned to, or allow them to relish in their strength, their virility. Men liked touching him, back then. They liked putting their hands on his thighs, their mouths to his neck, liked calling him 'Sweet boy' or whatever translation the relative language demanded.

And he let them. The ones that were good at it, he kept for a while, until pleasure made their flesh too sweet to deny himself. The ones that weren't good, well, they never were allowed to taste him, but they sated his hunger well enough.

He's older, now. He cannot think of the day it began, but perhaps it was the day he started growing facial hair. The day the first streaks of grey and lighter sand appeared in his dark hair, making it look ashen. The day his chest grew it, or the days his hunting caught up with him and he became thick with muscle. Maybe even a little beyond that, when his belly began to expand, just a little, enough to mark the twilight days of his teenage metabolism.

He does not know the day, but that day did come. Looks started coming less and less from older men and more and more from younger, slim, dainty things with sweet mouths and pretty eyes. Soft sighs, smiles that could charm honey from a beehive. He wonders if he ever looked like that, if he was ever so obvious, so brazen, when they pressed up to him with whiskey and white lies on their tongue, telling him they're younger than they are. Telling him they're legally allowed to drink. Telling him they want to kneel for him, want to submit to him.

It's enjoyable, in the way most fine food is regardless of who prepares it – but Hannibal's palette has been seasoned and salted with his own personal brand of desires for so long. It was jarring, knowing that he had moved from attracting older men to becoming one of them, the ones that put their hands on pretty boys' slim thighs, the ones that they cling to and whimper against when he fucks them. The ones that are limber and meek and let him put bruises on their necks, smile doe-eyed and weak-kneed when he sends them on their way.

He stopped indulging, after a while. There's only so much near-satisfaction one can take before one goes mad, after all. He refused to kill those boys, knowing they were simply following their nature. It is his turn, now, to be strong. To resist lecherous intent and be the refined, upstanding gentleman who can show them how to open their throats and their legs.

It's his turn, and he no longer wants to play, so he stops.

It is in his third year of self-imposed celibacy that he meets Will. Will, a frantic-eyed man with a sharp tongue and sharper eyes. Will, who makes Hannibal think of himself when he was in his thirties, rearing against something over which he had no control. Will, who reeks of wildness, of whiskey, who snaps his jaws when Hannibal gets too close to his neck, who flexes his fingers and rolls until the whites of his eyes show when Hannibal grabs him, when he kisses him.

Their relationship was not something Hannibal could have predicted, for Will is, at his core, unpredictable. Hannibal saw no sign of attraction until Will was in his bed. But, perhaps, he had been conditioned only to notice obvious things, over-saturated by sweet smiles and pretty lips and pale, unmarred flesh that arched and ached for him.

But his senses have been realigned, now. Will is wild, Will is a man – not a boy, a man – and he fucks like one. Like all good-home-boy, red-blooded American males might. Hannibal is learning, re-centering himself to the very specific, very unique blend that is Will's sex drive, his desires. He is subtle with his flirtations, baring his neck in a natural way, yet it teases. When he smiles, his cheeks dimple, and it makes him look sweet but the fine beard on his face makes Hannibal's thighs ache, wishing they would burn him.

The large, broad stretch of his hands, they're so strong, callused from his gun, capable of intricate knots and huge swipes of claws. He does not claw, but brushes, and does not bite, but nuzzles, and yet it is enough because Will is not some simpering, weak-limbed youth that crawls into his lap and begs for his cock. When Will comes to him, he demands. He commands. He takes what he wants, whether it's Hannibal's mouth, or his hands, or he wishes to bare Hannibal's flesh and ride him until they're both trembling.

It is close. It is an indulgence, and Hannibal, while not completely sated, is content.

 

 

Will looks up as Hannibal brings him a glass of wine. He tilts his head when Hannibal offers it to him, expecting Will to reach out and take it as he always does. His eyes, slowly, rake Hannibal up and down, that predatory darkness Hannibal has so missed making them shine. He doesn't move, otherwise, except to slouch in his seat.

Hannibal tilts his head. Will raises a brow.

Hannibal swallows, and bends forward further, until Will simply has to lift his hand and take the cradle of the wine glass from him. Their fingers brush, and lace, and Will gives him a smile that feels like pride, like nails. Hannibal shivers at the sight of it, and sips of his own glass. Will's presence warms him, it always has, and when Will looks at him like that – well, it conjures memories, half-faded but treasured, of book-lined rooms where men sat in thick leather chairs, cigar smoke and firelight turning them all half-blind. Reminds Hannibal of how he would target these men, let them touch his hair, his neck. Let them taste his innocence – or, at least, the façade Hannibal made of it.

Will swirls the wine around in the glass, presses the rim under his nose and breathes deep, mimicking Hannibal. He tilts the glass up, and Hannibal, strangely, cannot meet his eyes as Will drinks. He feels Will's gaze burning his cheeks, or maybe he's just flushed, feverish. The air is cold outside, and Hannibal is keeping his home warm to compensate.

Will lets out a pleased hum, and sets his glass down, back of his hand to his thigh, swirling the wine absently. It draws Hannibal's attention to his spread knees, and it's too dark to see the outlines of Will's thighs, the line of his cock, the belt around his waist. Hannibal's nose is flooded with wine and food, his mouth too full of saliva, to smell Will properly.

Will's other hand settles on the table, fingers to elbow, and he smiles. "What have you made for me today?"

Hannibal blinks, swallows. The choice of words is new; usually Will asks 'What's for dinner?' or 'Smells good, what is that?'. Something neutral, something ordinary. But this way, this carefully-phrased question – for everything Will does is calculated, he is just cavalier in a different way, and hides within feral pelts to Hannibal's carefully cultivated refinement – makes Hannibal's stomach tense and do a strange flip.

"Langue d'agneau en papillottes," he says. "Served with a sauce of duxelles and oyster mushrooms. I picked them myself."

Will hums again, tilting his head, and drops his eyes to his wine. Hannibal feels the urge to tug at his tie, feeling it too tight, his neck flushed and his heart thrumming in his chest, kickstarted by something in Will's soft tone.

Will lifts his hand, elbow still on the table, and rubs over his jaw, down his neck. Turns, to show it to Hannibal. Sighs, taking another sip of wine. "That sounds interesting," he murmurs. He licks his lips and Hannibal's fingers tighten, but he sighs, inwardly. Whatever feeling spurred itself in his chest, it was clearly not Will's intention. He takes another drink of wine. "Does it take a lot of effort, and time, to serve tongue?"

Hannibal shakes his head. "Not particularly," he replies. "But it is a delicacy, in most parts."

Will smiles, off-kilter, and puts his gaze on Hannibal again. His eyes shine. "When did you last have it?"

"It's been many years," Hannibal murmurs, and gets the impression Will is not asking about the food anymore. He is smiling, faint and fond, and his eyes run over Hannibal again like he's taking in a particularly fine work of art.

Then, he nods, and takes another drink of wine. "Good," he purrs, and Hannibal's hand shakes under the table. He flattens it against his thigh, and tries to shrug it off.

 

 

They eat. Will is not obnoxious with his praise, but Hannibal knows he's enjoying the meal because he is smiling, and his shoulders are lax, and he eats quickly and doesn't touch his wine for most of the meal, wanting to get the purest of flavor.

When he is done, he sets his knife and fork down, the silverware touching, and takes a drink of wine. Before Hannibal can speak, he slants dark eyes Hannibal's way, sets his glass down, and smiles. Reaches out and brushes gentle fingertips across the back of Hannibal's knuckles.

"That was wonderful, Hannibal," he says, and lifts Hannibal's hand, which has gone startlingly lax. He kisses the back of Hannibal's knuckles, and smiles. "I enjoyed it a lot."

Hannibal smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and shows his teeth. Will mimics him, and lets his hand go so he can finish his meal. He slouches back again with a contented sigh, fingers curling, and runs a hand through his hair.

Hannibal finishes his meal and sets his knife and fork down, his hand burning from Will's touch. He wants to bring his fingers to his lips, wants to smell Will, taste him there. Will's eyes meet his, wild and dark, hardly any blue left to them.

He tilts his head, smiles in a way so sweet and gentle that Hannibal's chest hurts. He swallows, and tries to fight down the flicker of hopeful anticipation that had swelled in his chest. Will, for all his equality in the bedroom, is not sexually inclined in the same way Hannibal is.

He stands, and makes to clear their plates, but Will reaches for him, catches his wrist, cradles there gently. Hannibal meets his eyes as Will presses his fingertips over his pulse, like he wants to measure it.

Will tilts his head, and stands. His other hand gently curls under Hannibal's chin, forcing him to straighten, and Hannibal's knees want to sag, want to break. "I'm going to be in the study," he murmurs. Hannibal nods, mute. "Don't bring any more wine."

It's an order, for all its softness. Hannibal's breath catches, his heart stutters, and he thinks he can see, as Will lets him go and turns away, a trace of a pleased smile on his face. He doesn't move as Will leaves, sleek and prowling like a hunting cat. Hannibal shakes his head, wills his hands to go still, and clears their places. He washes the dishes, the silverware, and the wine glasses. His mouth is dry and he wants more, needs to settle his nerves and quiet his mind, coat his tongue with wine so that he does not do or say anything foolish.

But Will told him not to.

Intrigued, curious, utterly delirious with potential, Hannibal goes to the study.

He finds Will sitting laxly, his shoes and socks taken off and set to one side, one heel braced up on the edge of the comfortable padded couch that has a twin on the other side of the fireplace. His back is to the armrest, and he looks up when Hannibal enters.

Hannibal smiles at him, and makes to sit on the other couch. They often indulge in conversation after their meals, until sleep or a different kind of hunger pulls them to bed.

But Will lifts his chin and Hannibal freezes in place. He smiles. "Not there," he says, and spreads his thighs, one still down so his foot touches the floor, the other pressing to the back of the couch. "Come sit here with me."

Hannibal's mouth floods with saliva, but he obeys, and sits just shy of Will's knee. Will grins at him, like Hannibal is an amusing, treasured child, and tilts his head. He slides his hands down his thighs and Hannibal's eyes drop, unable to stop himself, to the spread of his hands.

"Come closer, sweetheart," Will murmurs, teasing, playful. The same kind of way men would look at Hannibal when he was younger right before they ordered him to his knees. "I won't bite."

Hannibal's heart goes still. He meets Will's eyes, and knows his own are wide, disbelieving. Will has never referred to him with a pet name before, never. He purrs Hannibal's name, or, when he's feeling indulgent or arrogant, calls him 'Doctor Lecter'. This is…this is new. Hannibal aches, fire growing in his belly as he bows his head, shifts his weight and turns. Will sits up, wraps his large, warm hands around Hannibal's flanks and pulls him back to his chest, and Hannibal closes his eyes, stifles a whine.

Oh _God_.

"There we go," Will whispers, his teeth at Hannibal's ear, hands sliding around his chest as Will settles against the armrest again. The couch is deep enough to be comfortable, and Will's other leg comes up, brackets Hannibal at his flanks, at his hips. He pulls Hannibal to him and hums, giving a soft, considering rumble. "How does that feel?"

 _Wonderful_ , Hannibal wants to say. But what comes out is something strained, not even a word.

Will huffs a laugh, nuzzles under his ear, his hands spreading out wide and warm on Hannibal's chest. He tuts softly, tongue brushing Hannibal's ear. "You're so tense," he murmurs, and Hannibal shivers, sensation running down his spine, down his arms. He clings to the outside of Will's knees and Will's hands slide up, curl around the knot of his tie. Tugs, to loosen it.

He slips it from around Hannibal's neck, unwraps it until it's flat, and folds it, placing it gently on the floor by his shoes. Hannibal sucks in a breath and lets his head fall to Will's shoulder. It's the one where he was injured, many years ago, and Hannibal has spent hours massaging the aching muscle when the weather gets cold, bringing Will to a purring mess of pleasure beneath his hands.

Will undoes the top button of his shirt, then the second, baring some of his neck, and kisses the exposed flesh. Hannibal shifts his weight, wants to whine, to plead. Behavioral memory, half-buried instincts are rising up, telling him to turn, to press sweet kisses to Will's mouth, to let Will tug on his hair and use his mouth, his hands, whatever part of Hannibal he wants.

But he can't. That's not his role anymore.

He swallows, tries to bury the longing, the ache, as Will's hands slide to his vest and undo the buttons there, parting his clothes and Hannibal's chest rises sharply as Will hums, nuzzling his neck, his thighs tightening around Hannibal. This is just gentleness, this is just an indulgence on Will's part, and soon he will pull Hannibal upright, ask for his hands, for his cock, ask to be taken to bed and laid out like the pretty young things Hannibal used to entertain himself with.

Will lets out a quiet, low noise. "Relax," he says, growls the word. "You did such a good job, feeding me. Taking care of me. You're always so good. I can tell how much effort you put into making sure I'm happy here."

Hannibal winces, turning his head away. Will is, of course, so keen-sighted. It's one of the things Hannibal was drawn to in the first place – entertained, briefly, thoughts that maybe Will would simply _see_ what he needed, what he wanted.

But of course, it's impossible to expect that from a man, even someone as extraordinary as Will.

He feels Will's kiss in his hair, feels him smile. Will unbuttons two more of the buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest. His nails rake over the hair on Hannibal's chest and Hannibal sighs, unhappily aware of the evidence of his age, his unequivocal _manliness_. Oh, to be one of those sweet, smooth boys again, the ones with long, curling hair like Will's. With smooth chests, like Will's. With wide, wondering eyes, like Will's.

Will's hands press flat, slide knowing and cavalier over his exposed skin, and Hannibal shivers. Tightens his fingers on Will's knees.

Will kisses his neck again. "I want to take care of you," he says. Hannibal sucks in a breath, presses his lips together. Lets out a plaintive, wanting sound, barely-audible. "Will you let me do that, baby? Will you let daddy take care of you tonight?"

Hannibal goes absolutely still. His eyes fly open, and he can't stop the roll of his body, the way his feet brace against the other armrest and press back onto Will, desperately. He can feel Will's strength, his warmth – his erection, insistent and hard against Hannibal's spine.

He shudders, his mouth dry, and turns his head, sees Will smiling, pleased. See his eyes, shining with pride, with adoration.

He licks his lips and Will's eyes drop to the motion. Hannibal is trembling.

"Please," he says, and his voice is hoarse.

Will's smile widens, and he raises one hand, cradles Hannibal's jaw like he cradled his wine. Kisses, gently, at his cheek, at the corner of his mouth. Hannibal's lips part, and he lets out a grateful, weak moan as Will presses his lips, so gentle, licking slowly into his mouth.

Will growls, shuddering, his thumb pressed to Hannibal's smooth cheek, fingertips tightening around the shape of his jaw. "There's my sweet boy," he says, and he's speaking so lowly, like cigar smoke and whiskey is in his mouth. Hannibal gasps, tilts himself to Will's hand, to his mouth, and Will kisses him again.

Will smiles, pulling back, and gently nudges Hannibal's jaw with his nose, directing him to rest against Will's shoulder again.

"Just relax, darlin'," he murmurs, drawls the word, Louisiana-South coming out and it fills Hannibal with fire. Will's accent has always been soft, beaten and fought back by Maryland etiquette and Virginia drawl. He knows how people instinctively react to the Southern accent, think them lazy and stupid. But here, it comes out, and Hannibal is ravenous for it.

He closes his eyes, and it already feels like he's floating, weak with relief at being seen, at being understood. Will's hands touch him with utmost care, slide down and settle over Hannibal's belly beneath his shirt. Hannibal lets out a plaintive, desperate sound, and earns a kiss to his neck in reward.

" _God_ , I can feel how hard you're shaking for me," Will whispers, and Hannibal tenses, presses back, needs more of it, more of Will. "You're so patient, aren't you, baby? Just waiting for someone to come along and treat you right."

Hannibal sighs, softly, arches his hips as Will's fingers slide down.

Will smiles, presses his teeth to Hannibal's neck, sends a ricochet of fire down his spine as he pulls his hands back, wraps one around Hannibal's chest, the other sliding down to palm gently over the bulge of his cock. Hannibal's jaw clenches, his fingers tighten, and he opens his eyes, stares unseeing at the ceiling as Will presses down, cradles him closer.

"So responsive," Will praises, and nips gently at Hannibal's neck, causing him to flinch. Will pauses. "I'm sorry, darlin', do you not like it when daddy bites you?"

 _God_. Hannibal may burst into flames just from the way Will talks to him. He shakes his head, gasps as Will tightens his hands. "Please," he says. Clears his throat, fights past years of instinct and repression that staid his tongue for far too long.

Turns, buries his face in Will's neck. "I want you to bite me."

Will hums, and nudges Hannibal's face away. "You need to ask me properly, sweetheart," he growls, and kisses the arch of Hannibal's ear. "Daddy will give you what you need, but you have to ask."

Hannibal swallows, harsh enough that his throat clicks. His mouth is so _dry_ , branded by Will's kiss, enflamed by him. He arches his hips up into Will's hand, hopes Will can feel the desperate, aching pound of his heart when he says;

"Yes, daddy. Bite me."

Will lets out a snarled, guttural sound, and Hannibal moans as he feels Will's teeth sink into his shoulder, through his shirt and vest. He doesn't bite hard, but the pressure there is enough to make Hannibal's stomach sink in, enough to make him moan. He drags his nails down Will's thighs, presses close so he can feel Will's cock rutting up against his back.

Will releases his shoulder, snarls again, wraps his fingers around the bulge of Hannibal's cock and squeezes. Hannibal is trembling, wants to spread his thighs, wants Will's fingers to sink further, deeper, to pierce him and claim him and _take_ , just like those men did. Oh, Will would, too – he'd consume Hannibal as ravenously as food, as eagerly as wine.

He would do it. He _will_ do it, if Hannibal asks.

_You need to ask me properly._

He's burning, from the base of his skull to his knees, and then Will turns his head, nudges his mouth to just under Hannibal's ear, and growls; "You're behaving so well, sweetheart." Hannibal moans, grits his teeth as Will touches him, rubbing now, providing friction to his aching cock. Hannibal might come just from the touch, from Will's voice, and he hasn't had the luxury of that feeling for a very, _very_ long time. "Can daddy touch you?"

"Yes," Hannibal gasps, nodding frantically. " _Yes_."

Will smiles, and his deft fingers touch the button of Hannibal's suit pants, undo it, slides his zipper down and his warm, callused fingers dig between the opening of Hannibal's underwear and pull him out. Hannibal is so hard, blush-red and leaking at the tip, and he lets out a needy sound as Will wraps his hand around his cock, stroking tightly.

"Mm, I want you to make a mess for me," Will growls. "Want to see my boy come all over his nice clothes. Will you do that for me?"

 _Yes_. Hannibal tries to say it, but all he can do is nod.

He finally manages to loosen one hand, lifts it and wraps his fingers in Will's thick, soft hair. Tugs, just to hear Will snarl. God, Hannibal could listen to a symphony of just the noises Will makes when they're locked together in quiet, intimate moments.

Will bites him, again, on his bare flesh. Lightly, mostly teeth, no sucking. Hannibal growls, tightens his hand, tightens his belly. Will keeps stroking him, thumbing through the slick leaking from Hannibal's cockhead, drags it back down with touches assured and knowing. He has always known, it seems, how to touch Hannibal.

"Will," he breathes.

Will laughs, shaking his head. "No, baby, that's not what you're calling me tonight."

Hannibal whines, licks his lips. His thighs tighten, strain, as Will kisses over the mark on his neck. " _Daddy_ ," he gasps.

"Mm, much better," Will replies. He kisses Hannibal's neck, his jaw. "What do you need, sweet boy?"

Hannibal hisses, and tugs on Will's hair.

Will pauses, and gives a considering hum. His hand moves from Hannibal's chest, up his neck, cradles his throat for a brief moment. Hannibal shivers. He tugs Hannibal's hand from his hair, forces it back to his thigh, and then wraps his fingers in Hannibal's hair, at the top of his head where it's longest. He musses it, cards his fingers through it, and tugs hard enough that Hannibal's eyes fly open and he gasps, and lets out a loud, wrecked sound.

"That's it," Will growls, and resumes his tight, punishing hand on Hannibal's cock. His fierce, insistent tugs in his hair. "Good boy. Very good; asking for what you want. You make me so proud."

Hannibal shudders, his eyes wet, blinking rapidly.

"Are you going to come for me?"

Hannibal nods. He's not sure he could stop himself if he wanted to.

Will purrs, and he's shaking now, too. "Good," he whispers, voice low and rough. "Be a good boy and come for your daddy."

Hannibal groans, the sound surprisingly weak. His thighs pull together and his stomach tenses, breath hitching, and he feels the hard knot of arousal give way in his gut, feels his cock twitch in Will's hand. Feels himself coming, thick and hot, over Will's fingers, over his shirt, up to his chest. Will lets out a ragged, satisfied noise, stroking him tightly through it until Hannibal is gasping, squirming, too sensitive to touch.

Will growls, tugs on his hair, and brings his fingers to Hannibal's mouth. Holds them, curled and dripping. "Look at what a mess you made, sweetheart," he murmurs.

Hannibal parts his lips, obediently takes two of Will's fingers as he curls them over his tongue, smears the rest on Hannibal's face. It's dirty, debasing, and it feels like Hannibal's heart is singing, an open chorus to Will, a song of adoration and devotion because _God_ , how could Will get any more perfect, than in this moment?

He sucks Will clean, feels his tremble and growl, and then Will pulls his fingers back, cups Hannibal's face and lets go of his hair, turns him so that Will can lick into his mouth and taste Hannibal there. He runs his free hand down Hannibal's heaving chest, rakes nails through the hair there, cradles his shivering stomach.

"Perfect," Will whispers, as the kiss ends. He smiles and presses his lips to Hannibal's forehead. "That was perfect, darlin'. You're so good for me."

Hannibal smiles, utterly elated. He takes Will's hand from his stomach and kisses Will's knuckles, sighing as Will smiles and kisses him again, lips to cheek. Will shudders, slides his dirty hand to Hannibal's hip and squeezes, rutting against Hannibal's back.

Hannibal shivers, bites his lower lip. Will's eyelids flutter, lashes low, and he grits his teeth, bares them, as he ruts against Hannibal's spine.

" _Fuck_ ," he snarls, and nips at Hannibal's neck again. His hand tightens – it might leave bruises, and Hannibal's mouth waters at the thought. "God, you're so fuckin' perfect, sweetheart. Knew you would be."

Hannibal whines, rubs his fingers over his slick mouth. Will's eyes flash at the sight, and he goes tense, abruptly, upper lip lifting to show his teeth.

"Sit up," he demands, and Hannibal blinks, parting from Will's warmth with a reluctant, protesting noise. But Will follows him, follows him and pulls at him and turns him, shoving him back onto the couch. Will straightens, rolls his shoulders, and eyes Hannibal. A strange stillness comes over him, assessing like a hunting cat measuring lunging distance.

He smiles, slow, wide, and rubs his thumb against the corner of his mouth.

"Look at you," he purrs, as he might if they were in a bar, years ago, with Hannibal sleek and young and waiting for the right man to slide up next to him, to offer him a drink. Will's eyes are ravenous, raking down him, and he growls, and nods to himself.

"Stand," he says, and the command is whip-crack sharp. Hannibal rises to his feet, trembling. Will tilts his head. "I'm gonna give you a choice, baby." His voice is soft, coaxing, the spider to the fly; _Come into my parlor._ Hannibal's fingers flex.

Will steps up to him, thumbing over his cheek. He smiles, wolfish, predatory. "You can drop to your knees, let daddy use your sweet mouth until he's finished…" He drags his thumb over Hannibal's lower lip, and it aches from Hannibal's teeth. His mouth parts, letting Will sink inside, just for a moment. Will's eyes flash. "Or you can wait, and I'll get you nice and slick, nice and open for me, and fuck you until you don't remember what it's like to keep your legs closed anymore."

Hannibal's eyes widen, and he sags, and Will grins. Hannibal can't resist kissing him, wrapping his fingers in Will's hair, in his shirt, and pulling him closer. Will is crass, his language coarse but so, so _good_. He could paralyze Hannibal with a single word, spear him in the sharp angle of his smile, and Hannibal has no idea, suddenly, how he survived this long without it. Like a starving man offered food, his stomach clenches and reminds him of his hunger.

He pulls back, breathing raggedly, pleased to see Will similarly affected. He cups Will's face, wishes for just a moment to break the spell, to thank him and kiss him and tell him how much Hannibal adores him.

But there is an easier way to do that.

He drops to his knees.

Will lets out a huge breath, his eyes wide as he stares down at Hannibal. He recovers quickly, threading his fingers through Hannibal's hair – his dirty hand, and Hannibal is drowning in the scent of his come, of Will, blood-sweet on his lips as he leans in and mouths at Will's erection through his slacks.

Will growls, upper lip curling back, and he closes his eyes and tilts his head up, shows Hannibal the arch of his neck. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and the strength in his arms is obvious, muscles flexing, he's so strong, Hannibal will never let himself forget that.

He closes his eyes, leans into Will's touch, slides his hands up Will's thighs and Will huffs, jerking his head.

"No," he says, and Hannibal looks up at him, eyes wide. Will smiles at him, brushing the knuckles of his free hand down Hannibal's burning cheek. His fingers feel cool in comparison. "Don't use your hands, darlin'. Just be good and let daddy take what he wants."

Hannibal's jaw goes slack, and he moans, lashes fluttering as Will pulls on his hair again.

He hears Will's belt buckle come loose, whines and nuzzles Will's thigh as Will undoes the button and zip of his slacks, pulls the halves apart, pushes them down and pulls his cock out from his underwear. Hannibal catches the waistband in his teeth, tugs down until the material is wrapped around Will's thighs, and the sound Will makes will fill his dreams for the rest of his life.

"Good boy," Will praises, quietly. He wraps a hand around his cock, brushes his cockhead over Hannibal's lower lip. Hannibal growls, opening his mouth wider, tongue snaking out to taste. Will shivers, jaw clenching, and tightens his hand in Hannibal's hair.

He pushes into Hannibal's mouth, steadies his stance, wraps both hands in Hannibal's hair. Hannibal wants to touch him, desperately, but forces himself to put his hands behind his back. To clutch hard at his own clothes as Will growls, gasping, and starts to thrust.

They're smooth motions, but not gentle. Will presses deep, forcing Hannibal to take him, to accept him, past the clench of his throat and the jerk of his gag reflex. The taste of him, the scent of him, is overwhelming, makes Hannibal's mouth water. His tongue runs along the bottom of Will's cock, his lips are sore, tender, bruising.

"That's it," Will snarls, tilts his head up again and works Hannibal down onto him. His hands slide down, cup Hannibal at the nape, at the jaw, thumbing at the corner of his mouth like he wants to push in with that, too. Hannibal moans, jaw aching – he's out of practice, but senses he will not remain that way for long – and Will slides his thumb into his mouth. It breaks the seal of Hannibal's lips, forces saliva to pool and leak, adding to the mess Will smeared on his jaw.

Clearly Will likes seeing him flushed, flustered.

Hannibal tilts his eyes up, meets Will's, finds them wild and dark and Will lets out a low curse, jerks his head to one side, tightens his fingers and pulls back, almost all the way. His cock twitches, and Hannibal traces the movement of it with his tongue, and moans as Will floods his mouth. The taste of him is decadent, sweet after being so well-fed at Hannibal's table, and Hannibal is glowing with pride, tasting the evidence of his mark on Will even as Will claims him in such a base way.

Will grunts, and cradles Hannibal's head. "Don't swallow," he commands, breathless, and Hannibal whines, fingers flexing behind his back, but obeys.

Will pulls out, gasping, and falls to his knees. He cups Hannibal's jaws and pulls him into a kiss, presses as sweetly as any lover, any young boy Hannibal had been or has taken. Hannibal lets him lick, lets him drink, shares the taste of Will as Will gasps and moans and digs his nails into Hannibal's neck, over the light mark of his teeth, down Hannibal's bared chest.

Will is gasping, trembling as hard as Hannibal, and touches him with sudden reverence. "I -. _Hannibal_ ," he whispers, and the spell is broken, dissolving like ice in heat. Hannibal brings his hands forward, cups Will's nape, tugs on him until Will slides closer and there is not an inch of them, chest to knee, that is not touching the other.

Will pulls back when there is no more air, wipes his mouth, wipes Hannibal's. His eyes are wide, adoring, and he leans in for another kiss, this one more chaste. Will's eyes are shining, bright with pleasure and satisfaction, and Hannibal is sure he looks just as awestruck.

He sighs, brings Will to him, resting their foreheads together. "I have…" He stops, clears his throat, wincing at the soreness but proud of how it got there. "I had resigned myself to thinking I would never experience something like that again."

Will smiles, weak at the neck when Hannibal touches him. "Whenever you need it," Will says, fingers curling against Hannibal's chest. "I'll take care of you. You just have to ask."

Hannibal smiles.

Will kisses him, once more, and pushes himself to his feet. He helps Hannibal stand, and corrects their clothes with gentle touches.

Then, he cups Hannibal's nape, and brings him into another kiss. He pulls back, licks his lips, and thumbs at Hannibal's jaw.

"Let me clean you up, baby," he says. Purrs it. Hannibal shivers, his spine growing rigid with new heat. "Maybe, if you're good, I'll remind other parts of you what it's like to have daddy's attention."

Hannibal shivers, gasping, sucking in a breath that tastes, that smells, that feels like Will.

Will grins at him, and cups his chin. "How does that sound?"

"Sounds wonderful, daddy," Hannibal breathes.

Will hums, and kisses him one more time. "Good boy. Come with me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't help myself apparently...

It has been a long, long time since Hannibal woke with anything near the level of deep-seated, heavy contentment that sits and purrs in his chest on his first moment of awareness. Behind him, Will slumbers, one arm slung with the same casual possessiveness with which Will treats most things, across his chest, fingers curled but not in anything. His knuckles are settled against Hannibal's chest hair, one nail absently caught in a swell of muscle. Will's thigh, his left, has found a home for itself between Hannibal's, pushed forward so Hannibal wakes to his face in the pillows and his knee touching the edge of the mattress, having bent and made way for Will's dominion.

The events of the previous night come careening back to him like a tree struck by lightning – first, there is no motion, simply the charred remains of synapses and images too shocked and immediate to register. Then, the sweet downward pull as gravity and need take hold. Finally, a cascade, snapping branches and flutters of leaves.

Will, ordering him to keep the lights off, his hands spread wide and brazen down Hannibal's trembling arms. His sweet, low, "Be still, baby. Let me feel you." The crisp tacky ache of Will's come, of Hannibal's come, smeared across his cheek and jaw. Hannibal is taller than Will, there's no denying that, but he found his shoulders shrinking, curling in – found his head lowered to seek Will's fingers, his mouth. Found Will, in the darkness, like a behemoth, like the marble and stone monuments to kings and conquerors, and his shadow had been absolute.

Will, his hands wide and warm and deft, undoing buttons, pulling fabric free while Hannibal merely stood, unwrapped like a fine present. Will, his exhales heavy, breaths edged with teeth and bracketed by kisses and soft, impatient snarls. Will who, when Hannibal was naked, rutted his clothed erection against Hannibal's ass, teeth at his neck, who called him 'pretty' and 'sweet' and all those lovely pet names that had not graced Hannibal's ears for far too long.

Hannibal stirs, shivering as the swirls and buffeting echoes of those memories cling to his skin. He is damp – hairline, back, thighs, they all bear evidence of Will's claim on him. His neck, with marks from Will's teeth. His back, sticky with Will's seed, and his thighs the same.

Behind him, Will stirs – whether his internal clock is similarly fine-tuned to the dawn, or he can sense the alert rhythm change in Hannibal's heartbeat, Hannibal could not say. But he sighs, and nuzzles Hannibal's shoulder, and pulls back, his arm sliding up, curling, forcing Hannibal to turn onto his back. The daylight softens Will's shadows, makes him appear mortal again, though there is a lingering flush on his cheeks and brightness in his eyes that makes Hannibal think of something divine.

He smiles, and Will responds in kind, tracing gentle fingers over Hannibal's cheekbone. "Not gonna run away from me, are you?" he asks. There still lingers some drawl in his accent, left behind like breadcrumbs to paradise.

Hannibal tilts his head, lifts a brow. "Any reason I should?" he replies.

Will's smile doesn't change – only to, perhaps, grow fonder. "Maybe to see if I'd let you," he says, a huff both self-deprecating and utterly knowing falling from his kiss-swollen lips. Then, his eyes fall, dip to Hannibal's neck, which bears pink marks now. Further, still, to the sticky mess of seed and sweat on his collarbones, on his chest hair. He bites his lower lip. "I'd probably run," he confesses, whisper-soft. "If our situations were reversed."

Hannibal hums, cups Will's face, but doesn't force their eyes to meet. Will may come to him on his own, in his own time, as he has every other time. "It was lack of opportunity, not shame, that kept me from voicing my needs, Will," he says, plainly, for he knows Will appreciates plain speech when it comes to sexual things. "It was not a secret I felt compelled to hide away, but rather some…old coat, in the back of my closet, that I had put in storage, figuring my time to wear it had passed, and therefore was unwilling to take it out again."

Will grins, wide and impish. "And I raided your wardrobe," he says, lifting his eyes to meet Hannibal's with a happy, sweet laugh.

Hannibal huffs, petting through Will's soft curls, down the side of his neck. "That you did," he replies, soft with reverence. For how can he deny such an emotion, to be with someone like Will, who brushed past all the potential awkwardness of such a conversation, simply saw something he wanted and took it? It is a feat admirable and amazing. For Will to simply _see_ , and understand, and want it back – well, Hannibal is certainly not a staunch believer in destiny, but when presented with such an obvious gift it's hard to argue otherwise.

Will sighs, lashes fluttering as Hannibal pets over the nape of his neck. He arches against Hannibal like a kitten, fingers spread out wide and digging in with blunt nails on Hannibal's chest as he turns his head, leans into the touch, and settles his cheek on Hannibal's collarbone.

"Continuing the metaphor," he says, after a moment of companionable, comfortable silence; "If you wanted to wear that coat more often, I wouldn't be opposed."

Hannibal huffs a laugh, "Nor would I," he replies.

Will sighs again. "How would you do it, when you were younger?" he asks, idly tracing patterns, curling Hannibal's hair around his finger. "Did you go to fancy parties and dark-lit bars, find your mark and hunt them down? Or did they come to you?"

Hannibal shifts, brings Will's hand up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. "Some were more brazen than others," he murmurs. At the memories, another tree is struck by lightning, another flurry of burning leaves and ground stabbed by branches. Heat curls up, flickering in his belly. "Some were very cavalier with me. They would buy me drinks, as though alcohol was the only way to get me to desire them."

Will huffs a sweet laugh. "I'd like to think, for my own ego, that you were more selective than needing a thick wallet and a dirty smile to spread your legs."

Just like last night, the casual dirtiness of Will's comments makes his spine grow molten, makes him press his lips together, then kiss Will's knuckles again. Will's fingers flex – he can probably hear the jitter-start of Hannibal's heartbeat, a stallion in the racing box just waiting to be let loose.

"I had a type," he concedes. His other arm is around Will's shoulders, now, and he spreads his hand out wide, touching them. "I liked…big men," he says. Will hums, pressing closer, a fine line of purring heat on his flank. Will's thigh presses over his, muscles tightening as he hooks his heel between Hannibal's calves. "Strong men. Men who still had a jolt of life to them, who could…" He breathes in. "Push me around."

Will lifts his head, meets Hannibal's eyes and Hannibal drags his gaze from the ceiling, from his memory, to meet Will's. He finds them dark, calculating, like he stared at Hannibal over their food and wine. He takes his hand from Hannibal's mouth, braces himself on his other elbow, and slides his hand down, warm and solid and cavalier, beneath the pool of sheets around Hannibal's waist, between his sticky thighs.

Will sighs, leans down and licks over the first bite he placed, the pink ache on Hannibal's shoulder. His hand curls, cupping Hannibal's balls, callused fingers brushing his perineum and pressing. "Sweet boy," he purrs, and Hannibal shivers, his nostrils flaring, hand tightening on Will's shoulder. His other threads through Will's hair, encouraging to bite and suck to his heart's content, until his teeth are satisfied. "Would you like to take your coat out again?"

It's addiction, it's indulgence, and Hannibal is ravenous.

He breathes out, tightens his hands, and nods. "Yes, daddy." Then, for good measure, he whines, arches his hips up, closes his eyes at the sound of Will's growl. "Please."

Will lets out a harsh, ragged sound. He pushes himself upright, looms over Hannibal, the daylight painting him in stark relief. "Roll onto your belly, darlin'," he orders, and pulls his hand away. Hannibal shivers, and obeys, sliding under Will's chest and arching up, so he can feel Will's weight against him. Will lowers his mouth, opens his jaws wide and warm on the nape of Hannibal's neck. His hands, strong, wide, settle on Hannibal's flanks and rake down. "Spread your legs," he says, breath catching when Hannibal eagerly obeys.

Will growls again, bites down lightly, and then nuzzles Hannibal's hair. "Good boy," he whispers, shifting his weight so his legs shove Hannibal's thighs apart, exposing him, and he pulls the sheets back, covering Will's calves and feet and exposing Hannibal to the light. Will's big hands flatten on his ass, spread him apart, and he ruts his hardening cock between the sticky remains of lube and seed still clinging to Hannibal's skin. "Fuck, baby, you're still wet."

Hannibal shivers, fingers clenching in the sheets. He bites his lower lip as Will rears up, fumbles for the bottle of lubricant still sitting on the bedside table, and wets his fingers.

Will leans down, purring, and kisses open-mouthed on Hannibal's flexed shoulder. "Just relax," he says, and his voice has that strange cadence to it again, that dark, dirty thing that had whispered to Hannibal's inner creature, enticed it to spread his legs, spread his mouth wide for Will's cock when he'd gone to his knees. "Gonna make you feel so good, baby, just relax and let daddy take care of you."

Hannibal nods, turns his head and catches Will's smile, catches his mouth when Will kisses his flushed cheek. Will is not shy, not hesitant, as he curls his fingers and pushes into Hannibal's hole with one, pressing as deep as he can go. Hannibal's stomach clenches, his muscles tightening around Will's finger, pleased to the bone when he feels Will's cock twitch and leak against his thigh.

Will growls, digs his nails into Hannibal's hip and tugs. "Just like this, baby, lift your hips for me. Show me how much you want it." Hannibal obeys with an eager moan, fingers flexing beneath the pillows when Will, in reward, pushes in with another finger. He trembles, sweating under Will's weight and warmth, as Will growls again and bites down on Hannibal's neck. "That's it, darlin'. Well done."

Hannibal closes his eyes, lifts his shoulders and his ass as Will stretches him open. Even with the muscle memory of letting a man dominate and take him like this, there is something special about the way Will touches him and talks to him. Those other men had been whiskey-sour, drunk and slurring most times, called Hannibal all kinds of dirty, derogatory things – but not Will. Will speaks to him of ascension, of mutual pleasure and trust in each other. He elevates Hannibal on a throne, falls to his knees and thanks him with every touch, every sweet, low growl.

Will pushes in with another finger, shaking finely, his free hand flexing on Hannibal's hip when Hannibal's stomach sinks in and Will finds his prostate. He moans, loudly, harshly, turning his head to muffle the sound against his forearm.

Will snarls, his hand flying from Hannibal's hip to his hair, wrapping tight and tugging. "Don't you dare," he says, teeth at Hannibal's ear. He bites down, presses deep, circling Hannibal's prostate with assured, confident touches. Only two thirds of Hannibal's previous, older lovers – and that's being generous – had managed to find it before, had done little more than get him wet and open and fucked him until he screamed and clawed at them.

He had always been more attentive, with his own boys. Just like Will is doing to him.

"I want to hear how good it feels," Will growls, tugging on Hannibal's hair again and yanking him back to the present. Hannibal moans, flushing, his stomach tensing up when Will touches him again. "It does feel good, doesn't it, baby? You like it when daddy touches you?"

Hannibal nods, wincing at the tug on his hair, shakes when Will slides his hand down and squeezes his nape.

"Say it."

Hannibal's breath catches. "It feels good, daddy," he groans, eyes closing as Will mercilessly works his fingers against his prostate. Will's thumb slides down, slicks along his perineum, presses so he's pinching behind Hannibal's balls and it's so much pressure, so much -. "I love how it feels when you're inside me."

Will hums, his smile wide and pleased, cheek pressed to Hannibal's jaw. His hips roll, rutting impatiently against his own hand, then sweeps between Hannibal's thighs, fucking between the tensed muscle. "I want you to come on my cock, darlin'," he purrs. "Like you did last night. You think you can do that for me?"

Hannibal nods, frantically, and rolls his entire body back onto Will, into Will. "Please."

With a snarl, Will pulls his fingers out, his hand sliding down Hannibal's strong back to grip his hips. He rears, fists his cock and presses it to Hannibal's stretched hole.

"Just relax," he says, hardly a whisper, and pushes inside.

Hannibal tenses up, desperate to cling to Will, to keep him in. Will snarls again, plants his hands on the bed and fucks in deeply, smoothly, as graceful and strong as he always is. His teeth find Hannibal's shoulder, bite down, welting the skin, and Hannibal moans loudly as Will slides deeply into him, until his hips connect with the tensed muscles of Hannibal's ass, until Will's thighs are flush to his own.

"Mm, _fuck_ ," Will growls, fingers flexing, trembling as Hannibal slides his own hands down, lets Will cover him there, too, their fingers lacing. Will's forehead brushes Hannibal's shoulders, his spine, slick with sweat, damp curls clinging. "Fuck, baby, you're so fuckin' tight." It's said with awe, feels like praise. Will starts to move, hips rolling slow, so deep, and Hannibal's heart is rushing in his ears. "Can't believe what a sweet, pretty boy I have, you feel so fuckin' good I -."

He stops, snarls, pulls back and fucks Hannibal hard enough that the headboard knocks against the wall. Hannibal works one hand free, reaches back and digs his nails into Will's thigh, lets the eagerness take him, lets muscle memory loosen his tongue when he says;

"Fuck me, daddy." He's high, plaintive, hardly recognizable as his own voice; "Fill me up."

Will growls, pushes his free hand beneath Hannibal's belly and wraps tightly around his leaking cock. Hannibal tenses when he does it, muscles clamping around Will's cock almost viciously, earning another snarled curse. Hannibal is leaking, wet at the tip too, and bows his head for Will's teeth, tenses for Will's thrusts. He's close.

" _God_ , I wanna mark every inch of you," Will breathes, teeth at Hannibal's neck. His nose drags, slowly, across Hannibal's exposed jaw. "Wanna see you and know you've got my hands on your back, my teeth marks in your neck. Don't want you walkin' right by the time I'm done."

Hannibal growls, baring his teeth as Will's thumb swipes through the wetness at the head of his cock, fingers slicking him down, tight and hot and so _strong_. He lifts his hips higher, muscles in his thighs and stomach tense from strain, eager to bear all of Will's weight, his love, as Will fucks him brutally.

"Gonna come, baby," Will says, panting, his hand quickening on Hannibal's cock even as his hips slow. "Come on, be a good boy and come for daddy."

Hannibal is helpless, powerless – he goes still, whining softly as Will keeps touching him. Will's fingers flex between his own, his hand tightens on his cock, and he comes with a ragged snarl into the open air, eyes clenching tightly shut as Will strokes him through it.

"Oh fuck, _shit_ , good boy," Will breathes, letting his cock go and planting his dirty hand on Hannibal's hip. He tugs back, forcing Hannibal to his hands and knees, and fucks in deeply and Hannibal winces, feeling Will's cockhead brush along his sensitive, aching insides. His ass spasms, aftershocks flinging him into space and he shivers as Will tenses, growls, and bites down on his shoulder, cock twitching and chest heaving with an expansive inhale as he comes inside of Hannibal.

" _Hannibal_ ," he whispers, weakly, and Hannibal opens his eyes, sighs, tilts his head up so Will can kiss the side of his throat. Will buries his face there, slides his hand across Hannibal's chest and holds him, hips giving subtle twitches as he empties himself inside of Hannibal's body.

Hannibal sighs when Will pulls out, panting harshly, and then Will is turning him, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. Hannibal smiles into it, petting down Will's heaving, flushed chest. Will looks beautiful in the aftermath of sex, his cheeks dark like rare meat, his eyes bright with satisfaction.

Will breathes out, slides his clean hand into Hannibal's hair, and rests their foreheads together. "Good boy," he whispers, and Hannibal's stomach clenches, his shoulders roll. Will kisses him again, and tugs him to his feet. "Let's get you cleaned up."

 

 

They do not play with that dynamic all the time. Will is still an exuberant lover, enjoys Hannibal mounting him and fucking him as much as Hannibal enjoys receiving it. When they are out together, visiting crime scenes, or inside Hannibal's home (and, on brief occasions, Will's) Hannibal is fine-tuned to any clue, any tilt of Will's head or angle of his smile that suggests he is going to initiate the dynamic again, but it does not come.

Sometimes, though, sometimes Will touches his hair, or kisses him in such a way that Hannibal's knees go weak and his stomach grows heavy. He does not forget what Will told him, for Will was right – Hannibal goes out of his way to make Will feel comfortable and at home when he visits Hannibal. He serves wine that compliments Will's sweet tooth, feeds him heartily at his table, fucks Will just as he likes when Will guides him up to bed.

He doesn't let it trouble him, for he knows this behavior in Will; Will is a fisherman, and he desires most of all to fashion the most exquisite lures, the perfect bait and feathers to catch his prey. And Hannibal knows this is what he's doing – Will is a calculating, fine-tuned creature, who hides his thoughts and his designs until the exact moment he lets the lure fly, lets it meet the water. He watches the fish, monitors their migrations, the swirls of the river current, the weight of its flow against his thighs, before he acts.

"Hannibal," he says, lightly, and Hannibal inclines his head. They're in the kitchen, Will sitting on the small, single stool Hannibal brought once he figured out Will liked to watch him cook, and Will has wine in his hand and a darkness in his eyes that promises, promises. "These men who you wore your coat for…" Hannibal's hands go still, his heart stutters in his chest. Will's tone holds no jealousy, just the cool tone of someone wanting information – another feather for his lure. "Did you ever fuck any of them?"

Hannibal turns, regards him. Will's eyes meet his, his head tilted, one eyebrow arched.

"As in…the implicitly dominant role?" he asks.

Will presses his lips together. Wrong lure. His shoulders lift. "As in did any of them want to show you how real men fuck."

The words snap across Hannibal's neck, eclipse his iris. Another brash flutter of leaves. He swallows, and shakes his head. "Men like that enjoy the act of penetration," he says, and turns his attention back to the meal he's making. Lungs, beaten to a tender steak, seared with raspberry balsamic and a thick glaze. "The ego boost that comes with having a pretty young thing warming their beds." He stops, shoulders rolling, and says, "Begging for them."

Will hums, considering this. Hannibal hears him take a drink of wine.

"I confess, I feel the same," he says after another quiet moment, waiting for Hannibal to place the lung steaks on the flat iron sheet on his stove. "Though I have…thoughts. Musings."

Hannibal turns, the lungs able to have his attention diverted for a while, and regards Will calmly.

Will presses his lips together, then sucks in a breath through his teeth. He lifts his wine, fingers curled around the stem, and eyes it. "I don't want to simply capture the memory of an experience you had when you were younger," he says tightly. His eyes shift, meet Hannibal's, dark. "I'm not a stand-in for someone else."

Hannibal frowns, lips pulling down at the corners. "Have I implied you were?" he asks. "If so -."

"No, no," Will says, waving his hand with another sigh. "Forgive me. I'm not explaining myself well."

Hannibal nods, fighting back the little curl of apprehension in his stomach. He reaches for his wine glass and takes a drink.

Finally, Will seems to find the words he wants; "I know what men in my role do and say to boys in your role," he murmurs. "And you've been letting me take the lead, which I appreciate – it's a newer mindset for me than it is for you. But just because it's new doesn't mean I haven't seen it before, that I don't understand it." His eyes meet Hannibal's, dark, very dark. "I don't want you to feel any lesser, or weaker. And I'm not saying you do, or I feel I've done that, but -."

He stops, huffing a frustrated breath, and takes a drink of wine.

"Do you believe that by submitting to you, I not only see myself as weak, but embrace that weakness?" Hannibal asks, head tilted.

Will winces, presses his lips together, and looks away.

"I interviewed a man today," he says, and rubs his hand over his jaw. "He'd been killing young girls. Girls half his age at least. He called them 'whores' and 'sluts', and claimed they had teased him and he had no choice but to kill them." His eyes flash, wild and viscerally outraged, and his fingers curl. "I feel…compelled to ask if any of those men did the same to you."

Hannibal sighs, shrugging off the same chemical reaction to Will's killer that Will feels – his empathy is nowhere close to Will's, if it exists at all, but his rage, well, Will can conjure that in him, make him see and react to it, in a heartbeat. He wonders if there might be an opportunity to rid that man of his heart in the near future.

"Some did," he says with a nod. Will's eyes snap to him. Hannibal tilts his head, considering, briefly, whether he should continue; "I never felt threatened by them. Even with their size, and their strength, I knew I could do what I had to if they proved dangerous." He sighs. "But, yes, some of them enjoyed degrading me."

Will flinches, like the words were a blow. "I don't want to do that," he says.

Hannibal smiles. "I know," he replies. "I don't want you to worry about offending me, or hurting me, if that's something that troubles you."

He sets his wine glass down, and approaches Will, and slides a hand along his strong shoulders, into his hair. Will growls, eyes going heavy-lidded, and turns his head when Hannibal leans down, exposes his throat, his ear, when Hannibal puts his teeth to it;

"I enjoy overpowering you just as much."

Will bares his teeth, sets them on edge, and lets out a low, wanting sound, like a hungry animal. Hannibal smiles, kisses the flush just forming, and lets him go, circling the counter and going back to their meal.

 

 

Will leaves his wine when he goes to sit at the dining room table, and when Hannibal brings it to him, he does not lean in to take it. His chin lifts, and Hannibal smiles, because he knows and understands this game now.

He bows down, waits for Will to take his glass, and their fingers brush. Hannibal slides his fingers down Will's wrist, watches Will's eyes darken, his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly upwards at the corner, and Hannibal smiles, sets his own glass down and retrieves their plates.

He has paired the lungs with a thick, smoky glaze, fresh fruit with sweet cream in a little bowl on the side. Will raises a brow, but doesn't comment on the choice, as Hannibal can say without shame that he likes the taste of sweet things on Will's tongue, wants to devour him from the inside out.

Will smiles at him, and they start eating. He spears a piece of pineapple, dips it in the thick cream, and raises it to his lips. Bites, eyes closing at the sweetness, and swallows, before he turns his attention to the meat. Hannibal feels jittery, alight with anticipation, for he knows that Will intends to bring out the coat again, to touch him like an older man might, like a master might, but their conversation before was so intriguingly off-book for them that he finds himself thrumming with curiosity as to what Will intends.

Will's eyes slant to him, and drop, and his smile grows wide. "Eat, Hannibal," he says, and Hannibal startles, picks up his knife and fork and slices off a piece of the thick, brown-covered offal. "You'll need your strength."

Hannibal shivers, and swallows harshly.

 

 

When the meal is done and their glasses are empty, Hannibal clears the space away and returns to find Will still in the dining room, where he was left, but his chair is out now, and turned, so that there is room for him to stand if he so wishes. He tilts his head, catches Hannibal's eye, and smiles.

A single tilt of his head is all Hannibal needs to go to him, accepting the invitation of Will's upturned smile, his exposed throat, his spread knees. He leans down, hands on Will's flanks, and kisses him gently. Will lets out a sweet, happy noise into his mouth, cups his face, and brushes the stray, errant fall of his fringe from his forehead.

Then, Will's hand slides down, and knots in his jacket. "On your knees, baby," he whispers. Hannibal swallows, and falls to them, between Will's feet. His hands slide down, cup Will's strong thighs, nails digging into the underside. Will tugs on his hair, puts his other hand in a light and knowing touch to the back of Hannibal's neck, and sighs.

"You look so good on your knees," he says, like he's dazed at the sight. He thumbs, almost absently, at the corner of Hannibal's mouth. Then, he sits forward, and pulls Hannibal's face towards his lap. He lets go of Hannibal's neck, holds him by the jaw, fingertips dug in tight enough to whiten his skin, and works his hardening cock free of his jeans.

Hannibal's mouth waters, seeing the blushing head, ensnared by the white of Will's knuckles around his shaft as he strokes himself, and pushes his clothes down to the base. "Open your mouth, baby," he purrs, and Hannibal obeys, lets Will brush the wet head of his cock along Hannibal's lower lip, before he sinks inside.

Hannibal flattens his tongue immediately, pushes along the thick vein so that Will's cockhead drags along the rough roof of his mouth, slackens his jaws and listens to Will curse, free hand flexing in Hannibal's hair. Will's head tips back, his hips rolling as he gasps to the ceiling, and Hannibal groans, low in his chest, closes his eyes and sinks down until Will's cockhead hits the back of his throat.

He pauses, not wanting to gag, and Will shushes him, petting his neck. "Just like that, baby, just stay right there."

He holds Hannibal still, just on the tease of choking, his breath loud and harsh as Hannibal kneels and lets Will warm his cock in Hannibal's mouth. His tongue is wet, flooded with saliva, and he swallows, wincing, eyes burning with reflexive tears when Will utters a low curse and rolls his hips.

"Fuck," he snarls, when Hannibal gags. He lets Hannibal pull back, until just the head of his cock is inside, but then his grip is like iron and Hannibal swallows, licks heavy and wet over Will's cockhead, and lets Will pulls him back down. "Sorry, darlin', didn't mean to choke you like that. Your mouth just feels so good, makes me so hard."

Hannibal's lashes flutter, laxness taking over his shoulders, his neck, under such sweet praise. He pets down Will's thighs, offering his silent forgiveness, his acceptance, as Will tilts his head back and sighs again. His cock twitches on Hannibal's tongue, leaking bitter and thin into his mouth.

Will's fingers flex, card through Hannibal's hair, and his breath hitches. "Bein' so good, sweetheart," he whispers. He tugs, gently, on Hannibal's nape, lets him rise and fall again, building a slow rhythm. Hannibal breathes in deeply through his nose, tightening his hands on Will's thighs. "Good boy, _fuck_ , gonna come in your mouth, baby, would you like that?"

Hannibal is ravenous, his heart thundering, hands going tight. He groans his approval, slackens his jaw and lets Will move his head in slow, steady thrusts.

Will growls, hooks his thumbs against Hannibal's throat so he can feel it. "Make sure you swallow it all," he says, hips lifting, little jerks that tell Hannibal he's close. Then, Will goes lax, hissing in pleasure, his stomach sinking in and thighs tight under Hannibal's nails as he comes, flooding Hannibal's mouth.

Hannibal swallows each thick spurt, growling in delight as Will coats his tongue, his cock twitching as Hannibal licks and sucks him clean. Will tenses, pulling him off with a low moan when he's finished, and takes Hannibal by the neck, lifting him up as Will bows down and parts Hannibal's lips with his tongue, eagerly drinking the taste of himself down.

Hannibal moans when they part, panting heavily, eagerly devouring the sight of Will's flushed cheeks, the brightness of his eyes. Will growls, kisses him again as Hannibal corrects his clothes. When he's finished, Will stands, and pulls Hannibal to his feet.

"Upstairs," he demands, and Hannibal swallows, and lets Will lead him. Will turns the light on, pulls Hannibal to him so their chests touch, and gives him another kiss, hands sliding down his flanks.

He pulls back, smiling wide and hungry. "Get undressed and touch yourself," he commands. "On your back, on the bed."

Hannibal nods, the orders settling on his shoulders and calming the race of his heart. Will parts from him, then, and goes to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Hannibal frowns, watching him go, but hastens to obey. He sheds his clothes and lays in the center of their bed, sheets and duvet pushed to one side, and closes his eyes.

He slides a hand down his chest, his stomach, takes his cock in a loose grip and starts to stroke. It's enough, nowadays, to get him hard just listening to Will's soft sounds of pleasure. In these moments, Hannibal allows Will's influence to cover him. Allows himself to recall the touch of Will's large hands on his neck and shoulders, in his hair. Allows the sounds of Will's moans, and growls, to permeate his mind palace. Will's scent, thick in the sheets, fills his lungs when he breathes in. His cock twitches, hardening fully, and he moans lowly, drags his other hand down to squeeze the base of his cock as his other hand palms the head.

Will wasn't explicit with his commands, nor was he specific, but Hannibal knows how much Will likes touching him, spreading him open, getting him ready. Following this thought, he doesn't reach for the lubricant, doesn't drag his fingers down further, doesn't seek to part his flesh and ready himself for Will. His hips lurch up, seeking warmth and tightness, and he shivers as he strokes his cock, digs his nails behind his balls for pressure there.

His eyes open when the bathroom door does. Will is naked, flushed from neck to stomach, his eyes sharp and his smile wide when he sees Hannibal, obedient and needy, in his bed. "Now there's a pretty sight," he purrs. He prowls to the bed and climbs on, straddling Hannibal just above the knee. Hannibal's hands go still and Will's head tilts, he tuts; "Keep going, baby."

Hannibal obeys, weak when Will's eyes meet his. Will smiles, pets over Hannibal's tense stomach, his heaving chest. He leans down, parts his lips, and sucks a nipple into his mouth with an obscenely loud sound, and Hannibal jerks, cock spilling a single drop of clear precum onto his hand. He gathers it on his thumb and spreads it down, easing the way.

Will sucks Hannibal's nipple into his mouth, one hand rising to tease at the other until it hardens under his touch. He pulls back, sighing softly, and dips his head to watch Hannibal stroke his cock. He smiles, rearing up, dragging his nails down and batting Hannibal's hand away.

"Let me," he says, taking Hannibal in a tight grip. Hannibal moans, lashes fluttering, only to open his eyes when Will cups his chin. "Eyes on me, baby. Keep looking at me, just like that."

And _God_ , is Will beautiful. He rears above Hannibal like a creature of stone and conquest, his shoulders tensed and strong, his chest a lovely pink to match his cheeks. Will slides forward, lets his cock rut against Hannibal's, and he tilts his head back, showing Hannibal the graceful arch of his neck just begging for a kiss, for a bite.

Will lifts his hand, spits on his palm and then lowers it, wetting the head of Hannibal's cock and the new introduction of slick makes his jaw clench. He slides his hands onto Will's thighs, tightening, and Will smiles at him.

"I think you're ready," he murmurs.

Hannibal's head tilts, because he's not stretched open, he's not wet. But his eyes widen as Will lifts to his knees, pushes forward, and angles Hannibal's cock to press between his legs and _Will_ is wet, he's slick and burning hot and Hannibal lets out a harsh, eager sound as Will trembles, thighs tensing, and lets himself sink down on to Hannibal's cock.

Will sighs when he's fully sheathed, smiles, rolls his hips. " _Fuck_ , baby, you fill me up so nicely," he says, hardly a whisper, his lashes fluttering and the dazed look returning to his face.

Hannibal swallows, his mouth flooded with saliva, as Will rolls his hips, tensing up and so Goddamn tight, it's exhilarating, thrilling, to feel Will like this, to hear him talk like this.

Will looks down at him, leans down over him, the angle shifting and Hannibal can't help the way his hips buck, seeking more of Will's heat. Will growls, a warning sound, and cups Hannibal's neck again. His head tilts, he lowers his mouth to Hannibal's collarbone and parts his jaws, sucking a deep, blooming bruise to the exposed skin.

His hips keep moving, lazy for now, and he hums. "Touch me," he says, and Hannibal's hands slide up, grip his hips, move to touch Will's cock with both hands like he might be too small, too young, to completely encase him with one. Will shivers, fucking into his fists, fucking back onto his cock. "That's it, good boy."

Hannibal breathes out, because only just now does it feel like he can.

"Good boy," Will says again, weak at the neck. Hannibal cups him there, threads his fingers through Will's wild curls, and Will hisses, body spasming as he sinks all the way down onto Hannibal. "Does it feel good, being inside me?"

"Yes," Hannibal groans, digging his nails into Will's hip. Will lifts his eyes, one brow arched; _Well_? "It feels really good, daddy." Of all the words Hannibal knows, in this language and every other, he cannot think of a single one, something that perfectly encapsulates the feeling of being inside Will in any situation, let alone one as raw and desperate as this.

But Will smiles, because he understands. Of course he does. "Mm, you feel good too, baby," he purrs, tilting his head to give Hannibal another maddening view of his bared neck. He shines, now, sweating and fine on Hannibal's lap. "You fill daddy up so good. You wanna come?"

Hannibal nods, frantically, and whines when Will rears up too high for him to touch his hair.

"Then you gotta do something for me," Will says, heavier now, his cock thick and hard in Hannibal's hand, his hips moving with that same grace, but more fervor now. "If you can make me come again, I'll let you finish inside me."

Hannibal snarls, showing his teeth, and Will growls right back, gleefully proud of inciting such a reaction.

"How's that sound, baby? Would you like that?"

" _Yes_ ," Hannibal says, and surges up, rolling Will onto his back. His hands plant behind Will's knees, folding him in half, and he fucks deep, rolling his hips because he knows _exactly_ how to fuck Will, how Will likes it. He can do it, he knows he can.

Will moans, loudly, carding one hand through Hannibal's hair, the other stroking his cock tightly as Hannibal starts to fuck him in earnest. "Good boy," he hisses, as Hannibal shoves his thighs over Will's, forces him to bend further, open and spread as Hannibal mounts him thoroughly. "That's it, darlin', show your daddy how a man fucks."

His accent is coming out again, drawled and dangerous. Hannibal bows over him, snarls in satisfaction when Will spasms up, when Hannibal finds his prostate. He kisses Will, all teeth and tongue, spine shaken and tensed up as he does his best to hold back because Will promised reward but that also means punishment if he fails to satisfy, and he desperately, _desperately_ , wants to make his daddy come.

Will parts the kiss with a harsh nip, curls his hand around Hannibal's nape and forces his head to Will's lovely neck. Hannibal's teeth part, he bites down, and Will spasms up around him. He puts Will's calves on his shoulders, slides his hands down to keep Will open and spread for him. He's savage with it, bed creaking, and feels little better than a wild animal, a stallion finally allowed to run.

He yanks Will down the bed, eclipses him, because he's bigger now, he's stronger, and Will is a weak and moaning thing beneath him, writhing like those sweet boys but Hannibal doesn't doubt for a second who's in control right now, doesn't forget for one instant whose hand is in his hair, whose command sits on his shoulders.

He bites again, snarls, wanting, and Will goes tense.

"Ah, ah, no," Will snaps, his hand clamping down around his own cock harshly, thighs tight. He holds Hannibal by the hair and yanks him back. "Stop."

Hannibal grinds to a standstill, shuddering, pressed as deep as he can go, and he watches, breathless, as Will squeezes his cock tightly, knuckles white around the red flesh, staying his orgasm. He lets out a weak, needy noise, when he realizes what Will is doing, and Will's ass clenches up around him so tightly, maddening with how much Hannibal wants it.

Will breathes out, his smile lax and wide, and he pulls Hannibal into a kiss. "It's okay, baby," he purrs, petting Hannibal's heaving chest, letting his neck go to do it. "You're doing such a good job." Hannibal moans, fingers flexing tightly on Will's thighs. He might bruise. He wants to bruise.

Will hums, and says; "One thrust, sweetheart. Gently now."

Hannibal obeys with a weak noise, collapsing over Will, trembling as Will clamps down around him. "Darling," he whispers to Will's neck. Will growls, and snaps his teeth together in warning. "Daddy, please, let me make you feel good."

"Oh, my sweet boy," Will purrs in answer, gently stroking down Hannibal's trembling shoulders. "One more thrust." Hannibal jerks his hips, rolling tightly to Will's warm flesh, sobs as Will tenses up around him and returns a hand to his cock. "One more, that's it."

Hannibal obeys, his spine giving an answering clench as Will goes tight around him, bearing down. " _Fuck_ ," Will growls, stroking himself quickly, and he digs his nails into Hannibal's nape. "Keep goin', baby, come on. Make me come for you."

The noise he lets out is too weak with relief to be a moan, but he can't stop making it as his hands return to the backs of Will's knees and he fucks in, whining with delight when Will starts to bear down around him. He releases Will's legs, lets Will curse, wrapping his legs tight around Hannibal's waist, heels dug into his spine. He arches, coming in a heavy arc between their stomachs, and bites his pleasure against Hannibal's swollen, bruised lips.

" _Good_ boy," he growls, purring with satisfaction. He digs his nails into Hannibal's ass, encouraging him to fuck harder. Hannibal buries his face against Will's neck, parts his jaws and sucks a bruising mark to his pulse and Will lets him, arches for him, whimpering in a single shred of weak, breathless want. "Come in me, Hannibal. Do it right fuckin' now."

Again, Hannibal is helpless. He grinds in, stills, and Will pets down his back as his orgasm overwhelms him and he fills Will. He can't stop moving, suddenly, fucks through the wet, slippery heat he left behind in Will as Will clenches for him, aftershocks making his body weak and eager as Hannibal comes and floods him like Will flooded his mouth.

Will's legs unwind, and Hannibal pulls out, too sensitive to keep going. He collapses onto his back beside Will, breathing heavily, blinking without seeing at the ceiling. Beside him, Will is a panting mess, and he runs a hand through his sweaty hair, his grin wide and pleased. He spreads his legs, smears his fingers through the mess he left, the mess Hannibal left between his thighs, and lets out a soft, high moan of pleasure.

"That was…"

Hannibal nods. Words escape him, even now.

Will rolls onto his side, sated and low-lidded, and pulls Hannibal to his side as well, drags him into a kiss and his fingers are wet, slick on Hannibal's jaw, and he stinks of both of them. Hannibal presses close, eager to touch Will, wanting to feel the rush of his pulse and the steadiness as it returns to his breathing.

"You are magnificent," he says.

Will blushes, bites his kiss-red lower lip, and touches Hannibal's jaw again. "And you're perfect," he replies, lashes low, so sleek and fine in Hannibal's bed, _God_ , Hannibal could bask in this moment forever.

Will kisses him again, plants his hand on Hannibal's chest, and then pushes himself upright but only for long enough to retrieve one of the sheets, pulling it over them both so their warmth is trapped as their bodies cool. Hannibal shivers, and thumbs lightly over the marks he left on Will's neck.

Will makes a sweet, low sound, baring more of his throat for Hannibal's touch. Hannibal thinks Will is waiting for him to say something, but again, nothing comes. Nothing in English, anyway.

"Will," he breathes, and Will hums, smiling. He takes Hannibal's hand, lifts his knuckles, and kisses them.

"I know," he replies. And he does know. He understands. "I feel the same."

Hannibal smiles, and kisses him again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [His Boy in Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17545748) by [Eros_thanatos89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eros_thanatos89/pseuds/Eros_thanatos89)




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